Title: February
Author: Katerina
Rating: PG
Pairing: J/S, of course… with mentions of M/S
Disclaimer: They're really not mine. Trust me.
Author's Notes: This chapter is a short one, but hopefully it will shed a little more on the story. The lyrics at the beginning are not mine; they belong to Kavisha Mazzella, from the song Big Blue Above. Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed – see, you do get results if you do! And, as always, extra thanks to Mariel, for posting.
Chapter Three
I saw you cast your net up to the sky
You're catching the words as they fly
Spray them with black ink on a white page
Wrap them and bind them with your joy and grace.
She has no dishwasher here, but she relishes the task of washing up; it is a smooth, simple domesticity that she has never experienced before. In the past she hated it; now, it's not so bad, really, because it isn't wasting time she should be spending elsewhere.
The last of the breakfast dishes cleared away, she rubs moisturizer into her hands and takes a seat at her laptop. A few clicks open the file, and she reads over the last lines on the page carefully. She knows exactly where she wants to go; now, the adventure is getting there.
She waits a few moments, and the computer hums patiently as she decides. Then, lifting her hands, she places her fingers on the keys and begins to type.
There is something very pure about this, about siphoning the voices and images in her head onto the page, pinning them there in stark black and glowing white. This is all the excitement she needs now, living in the unwritten pages while sitting in her tiny yellow and cream living room.
XXXXX
The clock is ticking inexorably towards midnight, and the coffee pot is long empty. The piles of paper in front of Jack seem smaller this year, as if the evidence is visibly shrinking along with the chance of finding her.
He has ticked off more of the handwritten dates now, carefully reviewing each of the incidents in his head, remembering every detail, ringing them dry in his search for clues.
Unfortunately, there is not much else to go on. That, oddly, is the only thing that gives him comfort; Sam knew what they would look for, and it isn't there, so she must have left by choice and hidden her tracks. It means she wasn't hurt.
Unfortunately, it also means she didn't want to be found.
Alone in his tiny apartment, Jack Malone struggles to focus on his task. The next date is exact: November 27.
XXXXX
27 November, 2003.
It was nine o'clock in the morning, and she hadn't shown up for work. Jack was just wondering who the hell he was going to call if she didn't show up at all, when his cell phone rang.
The line was crackly, but he could hear her, echoing as if she were at the bottom of a tin bath.
"Jack?"
"Sam. Where are you?" He managed to keep most of the concern out of his voice.
She ignored his question, and he wasn't sure if it was intentional or if the line had dropped out.
"I won't be in today," she said, and her tone was absolutely flat. "I'm not well. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Sam? What-"
And then a dial tone.
Later, he had no choice but to offer Sam's vague excuse to the team, and they took it without question. But Jack, who had heard her voice, didn't find it so easy.
He could have been imagining it, but it seemed as though Martin avoided his eyes all day.
XXXXX
Back in his apartment, Jack's own eyes are growing sore, and he blinks quickly to clear them.
There is a reason that particular date is etched in his mind, when others are only vague suggestions, early or late in a particular month. It is because, when Sam returned to work the next day, she sported a badly hidden bruise along one arched cheekbone.
She'd told him that she'd walked into a door.
End Chapter Three.